'All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling' – Oscar Wilde

Sad For Toads

Sad For Toads was inspired by a text from my girlfriend. A road near her house was covered in the flattened remains of a great number of toads. My initial reaction to this news was one of revulsion. UUH! How disgusting! Toad guts everywhere! Imagine that!

Slowly however, my revulsion turned to sadness at the thought of a great big family of toads being destroyed. They were probably having a party, perhaps to celebrate the birthday of an aging relative or the anniversary of a family wedding. On their way to Uncle Ribbits Gazebo for drinks and nibbles, they were brutally squished.

It’s a slightly experimental poem in terms of it’s structure and I’m not entirely sure that I like it. That would be a real problem if this was a blog for high quality poetry. Fortunately, it is not, so here we go.

Sad For Toads

It’s quiet now

Once, the echo of your unmistakable croak resonated
Like a burp in the cathedral
Through the country roads

But I

As I hear the pulping of your body underfoot
Like a bubble wrapped fish
I’m sad for toads

It’s still now

Once, the race of your graceless flop flashed
Like a lemon on a surfboard
And you positively glowed

But I

As I see the flatness of your hitherto fatness
Like an enlightened puffer fish
I’m sad for toads

It’s gory now

Once, your internal organs earned their title
Like bolognese in a water balloon
Bulging before it explodes

But I

As I smell the decay of your outer innards
Like a bevy of blended bowels
I’m sad for toads